


Heat Exchange

by Vivian Moon (vivian_moon)



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Fantastic Four (Ultimateverse)
Genre: Community: marvel_kink, M/M, Self-cest, Superpower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivian_moon/pseuds/Vivian%20Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's always been a bit of a narcissist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving my old kink meme fills from years ago...

"So, hey, you're not a zombie, right?"

This seems to be younger him's main topic of concern. Johnny grins and runs his hands down the tight lines of his costume. "You see any loose flesh anywhere on this body?" he challenges.

Younger him grins back. "We look good," he says. It's a toothpaste commercial smile, devastatingly sexy on Johnny now; on his younger face it could start a stampede at a boy band concert. Damn, he is so hot in any dimension. How is the universe not exploding from the impact of this much gorgeousness in one place?

"We look _hot_ ," he says, and lights his hands for emphasis. He doesn't usually try it on this close up with most people - there's a point where _wow so awesome_ crosses over into _ohshit FIRE_ \- but younger him can handle the heat.

In fact, his eyes light up with fascination. "Dude, can I feel?" he asks, reaching out towards his lit hands.

Johnny spreads his arms. "Many have asked. And few have been refused." He lets the kid step closer, but when he reaches for the flame, Johnny takes his hand and guides it the centre of his chest instead. Then-

_Flame on._

Johnny doesn't mention it to anyone, because it would probably come off as scary-sociopathic, but he's always had this fantasy about lighting up with someone touching him. He doesn't want to _burn_ anybody - Jesus, that's horrific - but... flames feel good. Touch feels good. More good is, well... always good.

The kid doesn't burn. Except when he chooses to - because a second later, he lights up too, and, oh crap, that's _sensational_. Literally. He can feel the kid's flames tingling under and over his skin, it's _internal_ , so much stronger and better than passing through ordinary fire. (And yeah, he likes that too, don't judge. It's not like he stops to jerk off in burning buildings. Much.)

In fact, non-judgement is gonna be the order of the day, because when they both flame down, well... Reed may be a super-genius, but it never did occur to Mr I-Can-Turn-Any-Part-Of-My-Body-To-Rubber-At-Will that there's a _reason_ most guys prefer to spare the super-tight-fit spandex pants for very special occasions.

This has the potential to be _awkward_ , but here he has the advantage of seniority to help him keep looking cool while the kid's starting to squirm.

It's kind of cute, actually.

Oh, hell, screw it. Johnny never claimed that he wasn't a narcissist.

And what's so wrong about a little masturbation?

The kid almost squeaks in surprise as Johnny pushes him up against the wall. Johnny's had enough practise stripping out of these suits that he knows how to peel one like a banana. Result: one naked Johnny Storm, teenage dream edition.

It's the body he sees in the mirror every day, but shiny and new, practically begging to be taken for a test drive. And huh, there's one feature right there that he's never had the chance to get acquainted with from this angle.

He drops to his knees, and his younger double's eyes go satisfyingly wide. He wonders if the kid's ever even sucked a cock yet - it took Johnny a few years of enthusiastically chasing skirt before he got round to expanding his options - but really, he can get that experience any time. It's this end of it that's new and different. And totally what he'd use super stretch powers for if he had them.

Fifty bucks says Reed hasn't even _tried_.

Sucking his own cock, he discovers, is a lot like licking any part of his own body. There's no flavour to the skin, nothing that's different from the inside of his own mouth.

It means the kid just tastes like concentrated sex. Makes it easier to focus on what he's doing. As Johnny slides his tongue along that line right _there_ the kid makes a frantic noise and kind of _flails_ , and okay, that's just hilarious. Laughing with a mouthful of dick is a dangerous practise, but the kid doesn't exactly seem to be objecting to the vibrations. In fact, he seems like he's halfway ready to pop already.

Tonight he gets an education in the fun side of the difference between nineteen and thirty-five.

Johnny gives it a little more mouth action just for luck, and then he stands up, gripping the kid's hips just the right way to hoist him right off of the ground. The kid yelps and grabs for the wall and the side of a bookcase to steady himself, and oh yeah, this is _definitely_ going to work. Johnny holds him in place with a body check as he shrugs out of his own uniform.

The kid's eyes are wide as saucers by this point, and it's pretty clear he knows what's coming - hint: it's him - and that he's almost certainly never done this before. But the thing is that he's Johnny too, and if there wasn't a Jake-from-shop-class or Hot Tattoo Guy starring in some guilty jerk-off fantasies, there was _somebody_.

And Johnny knows exactly what those fantasies are.

There's lube within easy reach - hey, he knows his Boy Scout motto - and the kid's eyes are magnetically fixed on Johnny's fingers as he rubs them together, taking his time. The wallpaper behind him is smoking faintly.

Showtime.

Johnny reaches forward and slides his fingers in. The kid shudders, tenses up, relaxes, and seeing that look on his own face... It's hot in every sense. Johnny has a body temperature degrees higher than normal, and though he's never really thought about, other people always feel cool before he warms them up.

Other-him's already an internal inferno, jaw clenched, fighting with the effort not to burst into flames. And it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't, except that Johnny likes seeing him caught right there on the edge, head back and throat working, looking like he's going to choke or cry or scream or _something_.

Johnny's racing up towards that edge pretty fast himself, and he ought to take more time and care with this except he knows damn well that the kid's every bit as impatient as he is. He slips his fingers free and the kid makes his first sound, a strangled, muffled, "Guh," of disappointment.

And that's okay, 'cause Johnny's going to make it _aaaaall_ better, right now. He raises the kid's hips again, and this time he's braced and ready for it, pressing back against the wall and the bookcase and wrapping his legs around Johnny's waist as he sinks... right... _in_.

God.

The kid makes a groaning sound that's halfway to a sob, and his breath stutters out in desperate pants like it hurts but the need hurts more. Johnny's practically exploding with that need himself, but he's got patience for this, the important stuff, and he lets the kid relax and unclench and make the first experimental shift of his hips- and, okay, patience time is done now.

It's frantic and jarring and the angle's just awkward enough to be even hotter and the kid's leaving smoking hand-prints on the furniture, and somewhere in the middle it becomes a sticky mess because - ha - his double lacks the staying power of the older generation, but none of that fully registers because holy crap, the _heat_ of sinking into _his own body_... And, oh yeah, he's there.

Orgasm hits him like a smack from the Hulk, and abruptly they're plastered together, panting, the wall holding both of them up. The kid's fingers uncurl from the charred edge of the bookshelf and his arm slumps around Johnny's neck.

This is the point where it could get awkward - but that would require one of them having the breath left to talk. By the time they're capable of enough coordination to disengage, it seems like a bit late to make an issue of it.

The kid breathes out and flops back against the wall, running a hand back through his teen pop-idol hair. He grins at the ceiling. "This is the most awesome thing I've done that I can never tell anybody about," he says.

"Find another Johnny Storm. Tell him," Johnny suggests, sinking down to sit on the floor beside him. He pats the kid's leg. "Maybe we can set up a threesome."

The kid gets a cute little frown wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. "Just as long as it isn't the zombie guy."

Johnny's beginning to think he's got some kind of complex.

"Anyway, they can't judge," he says, absently trailing a hand over the kid's ankle. "This is all practically Ben's fault."

"Ben?" Younger him blinks down at him, all big blue baffled eyes.

"Yeah." Johnny can't help but smirk as he looks up and spreads his hands. "Hey. He was the one that told me to go fuck myself."


End file.
